


tax benefits

by remy (iamremy)



Series: askbox prompts (multifandom) [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Proposes Marriage to Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff and Humor, Frustrated Dean Winchester, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, it does not go exactly according to plan, vaguely oblivious sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:57:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: say-yes-to-hole asked:For the writing rec thingy. Confusion-Wincest (ly 💖💘💓💖)Dean asks Sam to marry him. Sam is confused.





	tax benefits

**Author's Note:**

> this is what i'd imagine a wincest proposal to go down like, in my head. poor dean probably has a whole ass plan which just blows up in his face because sammy can be kinda dumb sometimes, and also they're winchesters and their plans rarely go the way they want them to.
> 
> anyway-- enjoy!

Sam looks at Dean, then down at the - the _thing_ \- he’s holding, and then back up at him. “_Cristo_,” he says.

“How on earth could I possibly be possessed?” Dean asks him irritably. “That tattoo’s not just decoration, Sam.”

“Had to check,” Sam mutters. He looks around on the table, and then picks up his fancy silver fork. “Here,” he says, handing it to Dean. “Take this.”

“Sam,” Dean begins.

“Take the fork, Dean,” Sam tells him, waving it at him.

Dean sighs, but reaches out with his free hand, grabs the fork, and then throws it aside. “Happy?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

He’s not a demon, and he’s not sizzling like a shapeshifter would. Sam’s damn sure he’s not an angel either, which means that all of this is really fucking happening. He’s not dreaming. He is actually physically here, in this moment, sitting at a table across from Dean in the nicest restaurant he’s ever been in. They’ve got intricately carved silverware, tablecloths that smell inexplicably of rosewater, and just the appetizers cost more than everything Sam owns put together.

Once upon a time, forever ago, all he would have wanted was to be seated in a place like this, dressed to the nines and having a five-star dinner with someone he loves. Now, though, as he sits there awkwardly in the nicest shirt he has, he still feels out of place, _other_, resisting the urge to fidget and wanting nothing more than the comforting familiarity of a hole-in-the-wall diner.

“I don’t understand,” he says, and hates that he sounds lost, completely out of his depth.

“Sammy, it’s not rocket science, man, come on,” Dean says. He still sounds irritated, but now there’s an undercurrent of uncertainty and insecurity to it, and it makes Sam feel infinitely worse.

“But that’s – that’s a _ring_,” he says, giving up on repressing his nerves and knotting his hands together in his lap, out of sight so that Dean can’t see him wringing them. “You’re - you–”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Dean says with a sigh, looking away. “I mean, it’s all right if you don’t. You can just say no, Sammy.”

But he doesn’t want to. That’s not what’s happening here. “Dean…”

“Look, I get it,” Dean interrupts, and finally puts the ring down on the table. It just lies there, looking weirdly desolate against the ivory tablecloth, and Sam can’t take his eyes off it even as Dean continues, “This is too weird even for us, right? I mean, there had to be a line somewhere. I guess this was it.”

Sam looks up. “You just asked me to marry you.” He sounds as utterly stunned as he still feels. His brain is just not fucking processing this development. “You made me put on nice clothes, and you brought me here, and you - you _asked me to marry you_.”

“You don’t have to repeat it, Sammy, I was there.” Dean’s swinging between irritable and insecure so quickly it’s giving Sam vertigo, and the fact that he can’t seem to get his point across is only making it worse.

“Why?” he ends up asking.

“Fuck’s sake,” mutters Dean, and then rolls his eyes. “Obviously it’s for the goddamn tax benefits, Sam, it’s not like I love you or anything.”

“We don’t pay taxes,” Sam says, for lack of anything else to respond with. A woman passing their table on the way to her own throws him a disapproving look, which he ignores.

“That’s what you’re going with?” Dean asks Sam incredulously. “Seriously, Sam? _Seriously_?” He gives Sam a second to answer, and when Sam doesn’t, he scoffs. “Fuck’s sake,” he repeats. “What is the point of that brain of yours, Sam? _God_.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh that tears at Sam. “This was a stupid idea.”

Sam’s brain jolts back online so fast it’s almost like he’s been struck by lightning. “Yes,” he answers belatedly.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what? You’re agreeing with me?”

Now it’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “No, that’s not what I–”

“Then _what_?” Dean all but snaps, clearly having reached the end of his rope.

Instead of answering, Sam reaches across the table and grabs the ring, shoving it back into Dean’s hand. “Ask me again,” he demands.

“What, so you can say no properly?” Dean asks sarcastically.

“Ask me again!” Sam repeats, more insistent this time.

“Ugh, _fine_.” Dean looks down at the ring, doing his best to disguise the hope shining again in his eyes, and then looks back up at Sam. “Fine,” he says again, and holds out the polished gold ring. “Sammy…” He trails off.

Sam waits. Dean doesn’t go on.

“Dean–”

“Jesus Christ, Sam, just fucking marry me, will you?” Dean bursts out, loud enough that the whole restaurant goes silent. Sam immediately flushes, realizing that everyone is looking at them now, that they all heard Dean ask and are waiting for Sam to reply.

“Yes,” he chokes out. “Yes, Dean, _yes_, I’ll marry you, of course I’ll marry you–”

Dean’s expression clears, his entire posture going loose with relief. “Thank _God_,” he says fervently, and grabs Sam hand. “Here,” he says, practically shoving the ring on in his eagerness. “Now we’re engaged, or whatever. _Finally_.”

Weirdly enough, the disapproving lady from earlier is the first one to begin clapping. Sam feels his whole face grow hot, but he’s also smiling wider than he’s ever smiled in his entire life, and Dean’s still holding his hand, and there’s a waiter practically falling over himself in his hurry to bring them free glasses of champagne, and Sam can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

“We’re engaged,” he repeats, stupidly happy.

“Here,” Dean says, eyes bright as he throws Sam another ring. “Put that one on me.”

Sam laughs as he catches it. “Going soft in your old age,” he teases. He’s much gentler than Dean was as he slips the ring on to his finger.

“Only for you, bitch,” Dean says fondly. “Only for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought!
> 
> love,  
remy


End file.
